Frank was in London for the day. He invited me to dinner at an Italian restaurant near Covent Garden, after which, buzzed from the bottle of Tuscan wine, we returned to my apartment. The roommate and her fiancé are in Paris, so we had the place to ourselves.

As soon as the front door had closed, Frank had me tight against the wall. The kisses were hungry as we struggled out of our winter jackets. Before, over risotto and bistecca, as two friends who had missed each other’s company catching up, we had the conversational intercourse of minds. Now, as lovers who had longed for a reunion, we required the conversational intercourse of bodies in places where words are superfluous. Fingers touching everywhere, lips kissing, his hardness insistent against my belly, we reacquainted ourselves. Frank reached behind me and shucked the gray sweater dress over my ass. His strong fingers gripped my cheeks through the nylon hose. Yearning for his tastes and textures, I sucked on his tongue and ran my fingers through his hair. When I raised a leg up and brought the inside face to a right angle against his hip, Frank caught the bottom of my thigh and pressed his weight into me, pushing my back flat against the wooden partition behind me. He went for my breasts. His head sunk into the cleavage in the front, and he shifted the soft wool aside to kiss and suck at the hillock of skin that the bra left exposed on top. As he did this, his arm reached between my legs. The fingers stretched up along the division of my ass, and the forearm slid against my cunt to create an exquisite friction on my pubis from below.

I knelt and extracted his penis from his trousers. After I had run my tongue through the springy curl of pubic hair to acquire his taste, I sucked him. The shaft, already thick with his arousal, assumed greater heft and elongated over my tongue as the blood rushed in to fill the vessels there. Frank hooked his hand around the back of my neck and rocked his hips at me as I collapsed my cheeks and dipped my head down and dragged my lips backward and taut over the hot flesh. Fingers twisted around the pedestal at the base of the column. No sooner had the first warm drops of precome, mixed up with the soft grain of the glans, touched upon my palate than a shudder ran through me, and I stopped, intent on the extraordinary sensation. The flavor invoked the memory of all those other times that I had sucked him off, and how I so missed having the girth and the balance and the weightiness and the substantial presence of his cock atop my tongue. I took a deep sniff of the masculine scents around me. I swiped the hair aside and placed a kiss on his groin. Moaning my contentment to him, I closed my eyes and took the glans into my mouth again, this time allowing it to sink deeper within. A steady progression into my throat yielded Frank’s own exhalations of undiluted pleasure as a second reward.

He wouldn’t let me stay on my knees forever. He pulled me upright and kissed me, his tongue flicking along the points of my teeth, chasing his taste. On the sofa, I pulled the dress over my shoulders and released the breasts from their confinement. Before I could remove the tights and finish stripping, Frank was on top of me. He pushed my torso flat on the cushions and raised my ass into the air. His fingers pressed and rubbed at the two openings through the nylon and the lacy fabric of my underwear, which dampened under this attention. Wedging the rise of the fabric between the buttocks and nudging it aside, his tongue lapped at my asshole through the stockings. While he nipped and licked, the hands massaged the curves and cambers of the flesh.

Teeth bit into the nylon and tore a hole. Frank pushed his fingers through the seams. The tights ripped apart with a loud crackle.

The sudden aggression that Frank exhibited was out of character for him, and it turned me on beyond measure. I raised my ass and wiggled it in his direction. Shifting the underwear out of his way, he licked my anus through the great rent that he had left in the hose. I spread my cheeks apart so that his tongue would follow the length of the crease. He swabbed from top to bottom. The fingers worked my pussy, petaling the lips flat, penetrating inside, pressing at the walls within, poking at my G-spot. The spendings from my stretched out cunt layered, thick and viscous, onto his fingers. He slathered it over my hairless pussy. The thumb pressed down on the clit and vibrated as though holding and extending and modulating a note on some stringed instrument. He played me. I cried out my exaltation.

When he asked me to turn myself around, I reclined on the sofa with one leg extended to my side and the other folded up and vertical on the pillow beside me. Frank went to the floor and stooped his head over my cunt. He varied the stimulation, cycling among the tongue, the lips, the teeth, the nose rubbing, the fingers outside, the fingers inside, the digits thrusting, spinning, pinching, stroking, teasing, prodding, and he kept going until I came. Evidently, he had missed my taste as well.

In the bedroom, we fucked through the tatters of black nylon. Frank entered me from behind to start.

I have bedded with this man more frequently than I have with any other in London. He knows my body, and I know his. The walls of my cunt hugged him with an embrace of welcome. They went all supple around the shaft and made room for his tenancy within. I gasped as he dragged the erection in and out. Though they tried to grip his head, the muscles collapsed behind him when he pulled his penis away from me. He held my thigh in one hand, pressed the other flat against my shoulder and backed out almost the whole way before reversing course. The motion was slow paced and deliberate. The underwear added a tightness to the movements. The hitch in my breathing was the loudest sound to my ears.

After a time, Frank picked up the pace. When he came close to releasing, he pulled back and brought himself supine on the bed. I stroked the penis. Straddling his body, I positioned the shaft upright and steadied the tip against my entrance. Lowering myself on top, I reveled in the sensation of fullness. I liked having his tall cock pointing up into me. Frank held me by the hips and thrust with his pelvis, rocketing the penis skyward with an intense and forceful tempo and letting gravity bring him down again. Because I wanted him to come, I tightened my muscles and compressed my vagina about the erection. Always the gentleman, he held off his orgasm until I had one of my own. His finger strummed at my clitoris. After I had squeaked my delight, he turned us over and pounded me from above. My feet were in the air and I held myself open for him, clutching his muscular biceps as he powered into me. An electric jolt hit me each time he bottomed out. The cock plowed me hard, and then he grunted a sequence of low, guttural sounds. His jaw dangled down. The shaft pulsed against the enclosure of my pussy as the balls expelled his semen. When his body crumpled on top of me, I kissed his collar as he panted for air. I liked being pinned by his mass.

We fucked once more in the night and again this morning. The first time was my favorite.

From the edge of the cushion of the couch, my fingers unbuttoned the fly of his jeans. He sent me to my knees: the place where a slut belongs, he said. The bare chested torso cast its shadow over me. Before he would let me suck his penis, he had me tilt my face up, stick my tongue out, and spread my jaws wide. I looked up at him expectantly, like a baby bird. The cord of expectorate he lowered onto my face missed. It landed on my chin and dribbled down my throat and accumulated at the hollow of my collar. The second and third time he spit, the saliva rained on my tongue just as he intended. He had me swish it around and swallow.

Later, in his bed, I sucked the cock again, this time to completion. Amadeo and I both knelt, me in panties and bra, feet crossed at the ankles, him on his shins with the thighs apart. My head bobbed slowly over him while he reached around me to curve his hand atop my rump. The grip of fingers tight on the lower part of the shaft, my lips nursed at the crown, and my tongue lapped the apron of foreskin where it wrinkled and layered below the glans. When Amadeo flattened onto his back, I twisted sideways and ran my tongue across the hairy balls and swabbed over the perineum. Pressing the side of my face into the mattress, I closed my eyes and flicked my tongue over his anus, echoing the movements of our earlier kisses. I gently mouthed the sac and then returned my attention to his asshole, leaving wet smacks over the rough textured skin. When I sucked his cock again, his hands swiped the hair out of my face so that he could watch. The pressure of his palm on my forehead tipped my mandible up. He raised himself to a crouch and spit in my face. The saliva landed on the bridge of my nose and fell along the upper lip. It was his silken caress. His come collected in a pale, milk pool on his thigh when the blowjob finished. I lapped cat-like at the cloudy waters until there was no more semen.

Amadeo had me wash his hand clean of my juices after he had licked and fingered me to a string of orgasms. When I could taste myself on his skin no longer, he cupped his hand to his mouth and filled the depression of the broad palm with his spit. He lowered his hand to me, stretched it flat, and bade me drink.

By then he had recovered his erection, and we proceeded to fuck. We shifted positions until we ended with me face down and flat on the mattress while he ejaculated in my cunt. After his penultimate orgasm, we cuddled in bed. My pussy was sated by this man. My limbs were heavy and slow moving. I pillowed my head on his chest and luxuriated in the fold of his arms, blanketed by the cozy afterglow of sex. Long minutes passed while Amadeo held my breasts and toyed with my nipples and feathered his index finger over my furrow. When he propped himself upright, he pushed my body to a sitting position as well. His hand tightened on my chin. Cheek resting against my forehead, he released a stream of expectorate to course along my nose. It rolled around my lips. He caught the saliva with his fingers and directed it into my mouth. While I sucked his fingers, his lips pecked the top of my head paternally through the hair. He called me “his good girl,” and I melted into him.

We fucked one more time in the morning before showering together and preparing for our workdays. This time, after the orgasm, he simply covered my mouth with his and filled the yawning space with his spittle. It dropped onto the roof of my mouth and caromed into my throat. The seal of our lips was tight; the saliva all went in; there was no trail of slobber anywhere outside. I tasted him on my palate all through the morning.

Sex is fun. I enjoy the process of discovering a partner. I find a new cock thrilling even when it’s only for a night.

He continues: do you fear commitment? Isn’t sex a big deal? What’s wrong with monogamy?

I don’t shun commitment. I have a boyfriend. Long distance sucks, but we are still together. My boyfriend’s attitude toward sex and kink mirrors my own. Neither of us feel that at this point in our lives we benefit from absolute exclusivity.

In a way, sex is always the big deal. We are naked and exposed with our insecurities visible, and we find an embrace anyway. We share our bodies and desires and accept what the other person offers in return. Sex is the collaborative dance, its steps invented anew each time. It’s a conversation, with the secrets laid bare. In another way, sex is no big deal at all. It’s that natural thing people do to acquire the pleasure it brings. It can’t be done alone. We need a partner to have the give and take, so we choose someone we like. Though it’s a conversation instead of a monologue, the patterns are familiar ones, and we know what happens. Sex is a moment in time that leaves the rest of the world in abeyance, so it is deeply, intensely personal for that. But this moment passes, life resumes, and most often we are not changed. So it is also nothing special.

I have no argument with anyone who prefers a monogamous arrangement. It happens not to be my choice right now. It might never be.

I think of it this way. Wouldn’t it be absurd if you were told that you could only laugh with one other person? Replace laugh with orgasm. They are both expressions of pleasure. What’s the difference?

The cutoff shirt is gauzy beachwear. The sleeves are short, and it leaves my belly bare. There’s no binding bra underneath, but, as a concession to the weather, I have a leather jacket draped over the back of the chair. The pink G-string leaves the outline of my pussy lips visible. Squeezing into black leather pants that conform to every curve, I tighten the laces over the crotch and tie a loopy knot. I look for my socks and follow with the low heeled ankle boots.

I consider myself in the mirror once I have dressed. My hair is in disarray. Twirling it into a bun and sloping the headband over top, I make the best of it as quickly as I can. So that I look less like a panda, I clean the makeup ringing my eyes in the bathroom sink. I rinse my mouth with Listerine.

On the tube in the morning, people look at me and know. The scent of sex oozes from my pores. My nipples are stiff. I cross my legs, right knee over left, and also my arms.

The man is already faceless and anonymous. He plied me with cocktails and persuaded me with laughter. He had taken my measure over drinks well enough to name me properly.

“Do you like that, slut?” he inquired. Without waiting for a reply, he spun the tip of his tongue around my clitoris again.

He took the penis from my mouth and pointed it vertical, lifting his scrotum up. “Lick them like a dog,” he said, once I spread my jaws and took both balls past my lips. When he brought his cock down, I squinted along the shaft and saw the streak of saliva, dazzling for its whiteness in the dark pubic hair.

“Oh, you dirty slag,” he exclaimed, when I sucked the spit from his cock and poured it into his open mouth. He held the back of my head to steady me while we kissed, and he jacked his shaft as our two tongues tasted each other.

“Pussy,” he exhaled, as his cock dragged into me. My lower legs gripped his sides. An arm wrapped his shoulder. I held on and moaned wordlessly.

“Yes, yes, yes,” I gasped, as the cock muscled into the tight space behind. “Anal bitch,” he dubbed me after sliding the erection the whole way in. I squeaked and grunted nasally and cupped my fingers over my clit. My elbows buckled at the force of the pounding I received.

“Come bucket,” he said, when I rubbed his semen into my tits. He made a movie of it on his cell phone.

1. Amadeo stopped me on the winding staircase again. He squeezed my buttocks and placed his hand between my legs. I liked the contact of the fingers on my pussy. The friction through the layers of cloth made me wet. This is apparently a standard move of his as he had done it before. I enjoyed the attention from below and behind. I whispered that I wished he had touched me this way on the escalator at the underground. At the top of the stairs, he wrapped his arm around my waist and pressed himself against me. He told me to suck in my breath, and when I did, his hand slipped under the waistband of my jeans and into my panties. The back of the hand made a visible bulge as he tugged at my lips. Amadeo asked me how long it would take me to come from masturbation. When I answered that it would take ten or fifteen minutes, he glanced at his watch and chose the first number and instructed me to come. He rolled his digits over my clit. Three other apartments opened onto the staircase. I leaned my weight backward into his body and bit my lips to keep myself silent while my pussy sucked greedily at his finger. Ten minutes later, when he removed his hand from my jeans, I had not achieved orgasm. I was disappointed with myself. I felt I had let him down. Once we had entered his apartment, I apologized. He said I deserved a punishment, and I agreed. He cuffed me on each side of the face. Afterwards, I brought his fingertips to my lips and kissed them.

2. In the bedroom, he bade me to strip. As he lowered the lights, I offered to put on a show for him. He declined. Once he had dispatched his clothes, he threw me on the bed and thrust into me from above. My pussy hadn’t been fucked in a week. It was a snug fit for the cock. This was not gentle loving he offered. I had reminded him over dinner that I enjoyed breath play, so his hand squeezed my throat. Instinctually, my arms flailed at him. I clawed at his forearm ineffectually, swatting at the muscles corded in relief. While I squirmed and writhed under him, the cock slammed into me. His spittle landed on my face as he called me names. The sex didn’t last long. He pounded me brutally for about five minutes before coming. Once again, I didn’t. But the constriction of my throat left me panting for breath. My pussy was drenched.

3. Amadeo chained me to the radiator. My hands were cuffed to the sides. He found a rattan cane in his closet and angled my ass up in the air. His hands ran over the flesh of the buttocks and heated them with a deep massage. When he was satisfied at my preparation, he told me that he would administer five strokes and directed me to count them aloud. The hits came hard, light, medium along the backs of the thighs, HARD, and MASSIVELY HARD on top. I yelped at the blows. The flesh stung fiendishly when he finished. He released me and had me look at myself in the mirror. Red stripes ran along my ass, perpendicular to the crease. Though he smeared ointment on my skin, the next day, the welts remained. I felt echoes of the final two strikes when I sat.

4. We had whisky in his kitchen, both of us naked. I touched my fingers to the drink in my glass and anointed it over his cock. Bending at the waist, I sucked, tasting the Talisker from his skin.

5. In his bedroom, he cuffed me to the radiator again. He prised apart the cheeks, which were recalcitrant and raw from the caning. I recoiled at his touch, but he gripped me tighter and licked at my asshole. Once it shone with his saliva, he squeezed lube inside and layered it over the condom as well. He held the buttocks open and touched the knob against my sphincter. Amadeo ordered me to place his cock inside my anus. I shifted on my knees and clenched my teeth as I brought my asshole back against the glans. It felt as though I was being ripped apart on the entry. My grip tight on the restraints, I took a deep breath and forced myself to take the cock in partway. He held himself steady, but otherwise let me do the work. Swallowing back the pain of penetration, I seesawed like a rocking horse, sodomizing myself until I had the penis embedded to the balls. His praise was my reward. He used my hair for reins, and he fucked me. This time I also came. The wetness from my cunt splashed his carpet. I had rug burns on my knees.

6. In the end, we spooned on his big bed. I raked my nails through the hair on his chest and pressed his hand against my tits. The wet and sloppy kisses sustained me. He raised his shin against my pussy and asked me to masturbate myself by humping his leg. I obeyed. I peeled the lips flat and rubbed my clit from the knee to the bony midpoint of the lower leg. It took me a while, but I had my second orgasm of the night. After that, we went to sleep, me on my belly, with my sore ass pointed in the air, covered by silk sheets and a woolen blanket, but warmed by the man beside me.

I remember the first night in the apartment that summer in Brooklyn. It took a while to get accustomed to the sound of the darkness. The police sirens wailed on the street outside. The refrigerator eight meters away at the opposite end of the studio made a sound like waves beating on the shore.

At first the noise carrying through the still, damp air resembled the beating of an artery in my head. Thump, thump, thump, went its metronome pulse. To this sound was added a second, discordant note: the rising pitch of a girl’s voice. Baritone grunts answered her prayer.

I hadn’t realized the walls of the new place were so thin. I shouldn’t have pressed my ear against the wall to listen. It was impolite. Yet I reached below and bore witness to sacred oaths.

We sat next to each other on the bus ride to his place, me at the window, him on the aisle. The pads of the fingers of Stephen’s right hand dragged lightly over my leg, from just above the knee to the midpoint of the thigh. The tickling sensation made me smile. I was happy that I hadn’t replaced the stockings after my shower: I enjoyed his touch on the bare skin. I stretched my knees apart as far as the narrow seat and the denim skirt would allow and was pleased when his pinky extended into the shadow.

I had seen him around campus. We are often at the gym at the same time. We have made eyes and flirted before. I watched him work out on Wednesday and noticed him noticing me staring. I liked how his gray shirt dampened with perspiration on the treadmill and how the muscles in his arms and back rippled on the rowing machine. I admired the solidity of his thighs. I caught him outside and asked him for a coffee. After that, I inquired whether he wanted to go somewhere to hang out, maybe mess around a little. Sweating from a workout makes me all wet inside.

The two of us displaced the cat from its place of repose and huddled on the loveseat in his living room. His arm draped over the cushion behind me. Pillowing my neck against the forearm, I stretched my legs over his lap. Angled up as my thighs were, he could have easily glanced into the skirt, but I appreciated that his eyes remained fixed on mine.

We kissed. My fingers gripped his collar. The touch of his lips at first was light. As our noses rubbed and the faces spun and realigned, tongues stole past lips. He held my ass and pulled my body close. I slanted my breasts into his chest. My fingernails combed the short fuzz of hair on his head. Never breaking our lip lock, never opening my eyes, I unbuttoned his shirt.

He brought my legs up, one at a time, and pulled the sensible flat shoes from my feet. While he did this, I brought the black sweatshirt over my head. There was only a pink bra underneath.

Setting my bare feet on the carpet, I elevated the ragged hem of the skirt up to the tops of my thighs. This enabled me to spread my legs for him and show him the matching bikini panties.

Stephen kissed below my ear as his hand became friendly with my pubis. I pressed my weight into the cushions while the fingers shuffled the front of the panties aside to improve his contact with my pussy. One of the fingers pressed between the lips and rubbed from side to side. It lifted from the petaling of the labia up to the clitoris. The kisses continued, on my throat and neck, on my shoulder above the bra strap, on my cheek. He lipped at the earlobe. The tongue swiped over the shell of the ear, a gesture that somehow opened a secret passage to the tips of my toes. My grip tightened on the arm reaching between my legs. The hand covering my cunt and the tickling kisses made me squirm.

A firm pressure between my shoulder blades encouraged me forward. Fingers made deft work of the clasp in back. The cups slid off my breasts. I shrugged off the brassiere and threw it on top of my hoodie. My skirt and panties were next, and then, except for a slender silver necklace, two rings, and the small metal loops in my ears, I was naked.

Because I didn’t have clothes on, and he did, I lifted the unbuttoned shirt from his shoulders. His arms wriggled free. Straddling his lap, I extricated the t-shirt from where it had been tucked into his jeans and slid my hand beneath the thin cotton to trace the muscular plates of his chest. The skin was smooth and hairless. We kissed again, mouth to mouth, our lips making soft sucking noises. I liked the way his tongue darted past my teeth, rabbit quick. I liked the curl of his bottom lip and tugged it with mine. I liked his breath rising and receding in time with my own and the taste of his warm spit mixing with my saliva.

He lifted his arms above his head for me, and I pulled off the shirt. The kisses deepened as my hands smoothed over the now exposed chest. He was built like an athlete or a god. The nerves in my fingers rejoiced at the construction of the muscles. His teeth scraped over my tongue.

Breaking contact with his mouth, I pressed my lips to his pectorals. I tasted the soft skin above the hard muscle, a touch of salt on the palate, the masculine undertow of strength and sinew beneath. My mouth settled over a nipple. I nipped the sensitive ring and swirled my tongue around the peak. My hands trailed over his flank. The lips found their way to the hollow in the middle of his chest. I kissed and licked. My tongue lapped at the projections of the muscles in his abdomen. His hands gathered my hair behind me. I felt the glancing touch of his powerful fingers at my neck. I stuck my tongue in his navel and kissed wetly, the way he had kissed my ear.

I wanted to go to my knees for his cock, but Stephen brought me back to the sofa, sitting me by his side. The leg nearer to him hooked automatically over his. Knee pointing up, the calf kicking against his denim clad thigh, I opened my legs wide and stretched my body across his. As we kissed audibly and wetly, his fingers worked the outside of my cunt, rubbing the lips and the clit. My hand anchored itself to the back of his neck, and I used that hold as a fulcrum with which I undulated my hips. Slanted diagonally on the couch and over him, my body undulated as I sought to feel his fingers move against me differently, with a harder touch, a broader stroke, a better angle.

His free arm wrapped me, the fingertips extending to press at the side of my breast. His thumb squeezed past the labia. Twisting in the loveseat, I straddled his lap once more to face him and clasped the back of his head while our lips renewed their acquaintance. The short buzz of hair was like sand against my skin.

When his fingers pulled at my ass cheeks, the lips of my pussy dragged over the coarse denim of his jeans. I deposited kisses on the side of his neck and over his throat. I fed him my breasts and let him feast on the nipples. His erection prodded me from below.

My arms wrapped around his back and I gripped his neck with my upper arms. One of his hands pushed between my shoulder blades. The fingers trailed up and down my spine. My tongue spilled into his open mouth. When Stephen stood, he lifted me with him. The immense arms cradled my back and buttocks and carried my weight easily. I vined my legs around him and pressed my chest against his. Still the kisses continued.

Eventually, he set me down, and the jeans came off. We abandoned the clothes and went to the bedroom.

I tightened and loosened my hand over his scrotum as we kissed some more in bed. When I started lipping the head of his penis, the shaft still had a plastic quality. I loved how the penis stiffened between my lips. As I sucked him to his full hardness, he cupped the back of my head. I fingered the base and the balls and flickered my tongue against the knob. I brought my face over him vigorously, taking the shaft deep inside, sinking almost to the lip of the scrotum. I was in a half-sitting position with my legs spread. Stephen fingered my pussy.

When I beat the helmet against my tongue, he took his cock from me. He stroked the shaft while I nursed again at its tip. His hand applied pressure at the back of my neck to keep me down over him. While he moaned, I caressed the balls and dribbled my spit down the sides. My fingers jerked the stem while I bobbed over the front part of the erection.

We did the bit with the condom, and then Stephen positioned me on hands and knees. I licked my fingers and pressed them to my cunt to prepare his entry. He coaxed my knees apart and pushed into me from behind. The shaft eased past the lips, and then he swiveled his hips and fell in the whole way. I began moaning immediately as he held my hips and thrust the shaft in and out. My head and shoulders lowered to the mattress. I luxuriated in the fullness in my cunt, celebrating the presence of this new cock. The wetness lubricated the motion inside. Stephen clutched my buttocks and slapped the flesh experimentally. When he did this, I bit my lip and groaned. My ass thrust back at him as I tried to allow the cock to push down deeper.

He leaned over my shoulder, and he kissed me. I liked how he maintained the contact of lips while he fucked me. My muscles squeezed him.

In the course of the kisses, he pulled me against his body. He leaned backward on his arms, and I brought myself to a partly upright position. Calves flanking his, I propped my weight on my arms and bounced myself over the penis. Keeping the shaft embedded halfway, I was able to rub the head against the G-spot. Reaching between my legs, I scissored two fingers around my clitoris. The friction inside and out made my cunt wetter and looser.

He told me how he enjoyed seeing my ass shake, so I spun my hips to exaggerate the movements in back. He slapped my buttocks, alternating between the cheeks.

I wanted the spanking to be heavier. I entreated him for more. I asked him to pull my hair. He thrust with his pelvis and fucked me forcefully.

We shifted positions. I rolled onto my back and held my legs spread in the air. While my hand rubbed energetically over the clit, Stephen entered me again. He was on his knees. Hands on either side of me braced his body above mine. He kissed me. His tongue licked my chin. His hips initiated the propulsive movement of the cock. I begged him to go faster and harder. His cock made me come. My consciousness shifted to my cunt. The sudden, powerful release, the seizure of the muscles inside, the responsiveness of the nerve endings — all these sensations drugged me up. I was floating in an orgasmic haze.

After my climax, he sat on the bed on his knees, legs spread open, and pounded the cock into me. My head dangled from the bed. I clutched his knees and held on to the bright white sheets on the mattress. The walls of my pussy collapsed around him. The muscles tightened and compressed. I came a second time, harder than the first. Somehow, he rode the cataclysm out without sperming by a visible exertion of will.

The cock had stiffened within me, and he brought his body over mine, blanketing me with his weight at last. I felt small under his powerful frame. He held me by the shoulders. His touch smoothed over my arms. He kissed me tenderly while I recovered my breath. The cock rocked inside my pussy softly as our tonguetips flickered together.

I wanted him to come. I needed to pay my orgasms back. I told him to fuck me until he spilled, to be as rough with me as he liked.

He positioned me on the edge of the bed and brought my legs vertical. He gripped each foot below the ankle. One knee on the mattress, the other leg mooring him to the floor, he fucked my pussy hard. He embedded himself fully and withdrew only the last inches of the cock before he pistoned in again. I made my pussy tight as he brought my legs together high above my chest. I encouraged him with dirty words. I beseeched him to use my cunt for his pleasure.

My thighs pressed against my breasts, folded up as I was. My arms stretched to either side of my body. I clutched the sheets while he fucked me. I screwed my eyes shut and restrained the compulsion to come so that he would have his climax first.

Compressing the muscles about his shaft, I moaned so very loudly. Stephen responded by baring his teeth. The pace of the fucking altered perceptibly. The movements became more frantic, more desperate, more fierce.

“Come in my pussy. Come in my pussy,” I chanted.

He came with a booming bellow. The bed shook. I felt the shaft quivering against my walls. The head twitched deep inside me. I let go and followed with my own convulsions.

I was meeting my roommate and her fiancé for dinner, so I couldn’t stay. He retrieved our clothes where they had been shed in the other room. When he returned the condom was drooping from his cock. I peeled it off. After that, I couldn’t help but suck his penis one more time.

The blowjob started out with me lying on my belly on the bed. But once I had him hard as obsidian, I flipped over onto my back. His thighs straddled my head, which was at the very edge of the mattress. While I shucked my fingers over the bottom part of the shaft, he lowered the front part into me. I liked seeing his hairy legs rising on either side of my head, the thicket of hair at his groin, the bristly ass beneath my hand. I sucked in a rhythm as he brought the crown past my lips.

“Don’t hold back,” I cautioned. “I don’t have much time.”

As I requested, Stephen didn’t restrain himself. He fucked my face violently after that. The movement began in his thighs. The cock encroached into my throat. A few minutes of this, and he grunted and came explosively. My mouth couldn’t contain his semen. It flowed down my cheek and trailed behind an ear. It made my throat sticky. I had it in my hair.

I cleaned up and got dressed. I gave him my digits before I left. I am sure I will run into him again at the gym, but considering it has been two days, and he hasn’t called, I may not be inclined to repeat the experience.

I dress as a Greek goddess for the night. The costume is a white dress with a short pleated skirt whose fabric flows and bounces with each step. The top is form fitting, with its neckline dipping low to display considerable cleavage. (I went braless, as Greek goddesses do.) Braided gold rope encircled my waist. The material of the skirt is flimsy and translucent to light. The hem leaves two-thirds of my thigh exposed and covers my ass — just! — and only when I stand motionless. I affix gold ribbon to the sandals and vine it around my calves. A wreath of laurel leaves on my head completes the outfit.

This costume is indecent without hot pants underneath. Otherwise, I can’t help but exhibit my ass when I move. Only tiny see through panties cover my girl parts though. It is Hallowe’en. The purpose of this night is to get debauched.

***

A violinist in the orchestra is one of the show runners. She has convinced much of the band to come to the masquerade, and there are other groups present as well. The organizers of the festivities have rented a warehouse in the north of London. The cover for entry is steep, but the booze inside is cheap. I resolve to drink less than on Friday.

When I arrive, I don’t feel like dancing at once. I get drinks at the bar and find friends at one of the tables that ring the walls of the room. We nurse cocktails and talk about our days. I get ribbing for my choice of costume.

Musicians — even the amateurs like us — are incorrigible gossips. I am asked about my tryst with the clarinetist following the concert two weeks ago. I offer my imprimatur to my friend, and despite entreaties decline to produce any details of the encounter. We all giggle when he walks past and waves.

***

I am surprised to see Mike. He is a cellist. When I first moved to London, he introduced me to the theaters and the museums. Though he is perhaps thirty years older, he might be my closest male friend in the city. Marriage never suited him, though he has attempted the enterprise twice. He has no children and enjoys the bachelor life. I have told him about my promiscuity. This amuses him.

Mike invites me to dinner once or twice a month for no reason at all, or knowing that I can’t afford good seats, asks me to the opera and the theater. He flatters me by saying that he enjoys the company of clever and beautiful women. Though Mike knows that I am unlikely to refuse any proposition he makes, he has never tried. He informed me kindly that he prefers women closer to his age. The kisses at the end of a date land chastely on my cheek.

He dresses extravagantly as Frans Banning Cocq.

***

A fireman comes on to me. The conversation is banal. I am not attracted.

I am grateful to Eliza, who rescues me. Displacing the arm from my shoulder, I make my excuses and visit the toilet.

***

When I dance, it is with the Grim Reaper. I do not know who is behind this mask. But, goddamn!, does he ever know how to move.

The music delivers a driving, persistent beat. The rhythm pulses. I feel the bass notes resounding in my bones.

I grind my hips. The sway of the swinging skirt shows my cheeks.

***

I lean myself into him, embracing Death.

Fingers trace the line of the spine. He applies a gentle pressure at the depression at my back just above the tailbone. When I place my arms upon his shoulders to encourage his further explorations, he shifts his attention to the front. His hands grip my sides, and he rolls his index fingers below my breasts. I twist toward him, letting the hands cover my tits. He knows that I’m not wearing a bra. He stares down into the gap between my breasts. I pull the fabric aside to quickly flash him a tit, then cover myself again. He cups my breasts. He kneads them through the skeletal gloves he wears.

My hands stroke the front of his pants. I raise his erection.

***

We go outside, the Grim Reaper and I. It has rained earlier in the day. The pavement is wet. I arch my toes and lower my knees to the ground anyway. We are positioned between two cars and out of sight.

I tell him to leave his mask on. I don’t know who he is. I don’t want to know. He holds his black robe bunched above his waist. His jeans are zipped open and lowered to the knees along with red, white, and blue striped boxers. His cock is lean, but it has length. I place wet kisses on the glans and let my lips cover the tip. The penis stiffens in my palm.

To begin, I slide my fingers along the bottom half of the shaft and suck only the head. My tongue slides under the helmet, poking at the frenulum, while I splash saliva over the top. Death leans against the car. I look up at him and scratch his thigh. My tongue curls around the knob. I give the underside a series of quick licks, then bounce the glans softly off my lower lip. Concentrating on the front of the penis only, I make a ring with my fingers and drag them up and down rapidly over the remainder of the shaft.

The woolen gloves are gone. I like that he works his hand over a breast and tweaks the nipple while I suck. The blowjob becomes wetter.

Death responds with heavy moans when I lip the crown above the circumcision ring. I repeat the movement for half a minute, then give his balls the same attention. Turning my head sideways, I lick at the seam at the center of the scrotum. When, I suck the cock again, I take him in deeper.

He pulls the laurel ring from my head. Holding the robe up over his stomach with one hand, he brushes the other through my hair.

I hear the voices of people having a smoke. The parking lot is dark. But his head is visible at least as a shadow. The risk of being discovered giving head excites me.

My knees scratch over the asphalt as I suck him harder. I drive my face at him, sinking lower and lower, breathing carefully through my nose, swallowing with my mouth to suppress the gag reflex when the glans presses up against my throat. Except for the hold of two fingers making the skin at the base of the cock taut, I have him fully embedded. The glans never leaves my mouth as my head bobs over him.

I look up and wonder at what he sees. A woman dressed up as the huntress Artemis is sucking the Grim Reaper’s cock. The mythologies are confused. The hood is drawn down. He throws his head back. Even in the near darkness outside, the veins in his neck stand visibly in relief. The grip in my hair tightens. The mask still covers his face, and I wonder if this is a man I know in a different context.

The pressure of the hand on the back of my head makes me look down again. I bob my head faster now. Lubricated with saliva, the cock sinks easily into my throat. The fingers now have a hold on his balls. I tug them. The tip of my nose smashes into his groin. The hair is matted down. I smell the maleness there. His movements acquire a charge. The robe is wedged against the car. He cups the sides of my head, and he holds me down when I have him in my throat.

Because I don’t want him to come just yet, I pull the cock from my lips and lay kisses on his thigh. I bring the sac forward with the press of fingers in back and drag my tongue over each hemisphere. I push the testes against the skin and suck on them. The tip of my tongue combs through his pubis. I use the point to lick over his groin. I poke at the eye. The precome has a viscous texture. Death tastes of salt and brine.

I make my tongue flat and drag it along the underside of the shaft. I mouth the sides. I hold the cock in my two hands and drop kisses over the top. I coo to the erection. Death looks down at me, and he moans.

Gripping my hand around the shaft, clenching the fingers tightly, I fellate him again. My thumb rubs along the bottom of the shaft. My tongue depresses in the middle, the front raising against the heavy knob. I bring my bottom lip up and tighten the seal. Filling my mouth full of saliva, I wash it against the mushroom knob. My head moves from side to side. I rotate my mouth slightly. I go up, and I go down. It goes on.

My hand tightens on his thigh. I suck him with no hands, starting with my lips on the glans, sinking down nearly to the bottom. My head twists as I take him down my throat. I descend until the lips rest against his balls and flick my tonguetip at the lip of the scrotum. I do this several times just to satisfy myself that I can swallow all of his length. Mostly, I work the upper two-thirds of the shaft. With the penis implanted in my throat, my lips nibble on the skin before reversing direction.

I go faster. He drives his pelvis at me while I suck him with obvious intention. One hand pushes off his hip. The other is splayed against his belly to balance myself. My cheeks hollow with the suction they deliver. Glancing up, I observe that his eyes are shut. His fingers shove at the back of my head. When he tells me he is going to come, I fight his grip and pull back from his cock. Tilting my face up, spreading my jaws, I extend my tongue to cushion the glans and jerk his shaft to completion.

Death dies the little death. He grunts and spews. The shaft trembles in my fingers. His come doesn’t shoot out with any velocity: it merely dribbles from the aperture. I push the thick glans against the roof of my mouth to collect the spendings. My tongue swirls round and round. The erection diminishes in my fingers.

I swish the semen in my mouth and swallow. I clean up the mess of saliva I have left on his cock. My knees are painted with dirt when I lift to my feet.

***

The man with whom I depart is not the man I blew. I hope the Grim Reaper remains a stranger to me.

***

Inside, I dance mostly with my female friends. We laugh and we drink and then dance some more. When I take a break around half past one, I sit with the clown. He is our pianist. I find his long fingers enchanting.

The conversation is flirtatious. He likes my costume. I have been horny ever since the blowjob outside sometime before midnight. We are having drinks in a dark corner. I take his hand and place it over my skirt. I spread my legs and push the hand against my pussy. I belatedly notice the ring on his finger when I do.

“You don’t have to,” I assure him. “I will apologize, and this won’t happen.”

He wants to.

***

He retrieves a change of clothes from his car and washes off the clown makeup in the bathroom. I clean up as well and say my goodbyes. Mike gives me an enormous hug and a knowing wink and admonishes me to have fun. The pianist — his name is Vikram, and he is a physician — takes us to a hotel.

Vikram is in his late thirties and looks as he should: fifteen years older than me and naturally tanned. I am bundled up in a trenchcoat that reaches to the knees and look perfectly decent. But the desk attendant knows why we want a room sometime after two in the morning. She develops an attitude. I wrap my arms around Vikram and lace my fingers over his waist. I place a kiss over his jacket where it falls at the shoulder. “I wish she’d hurry up. I can’t wait to get you into bed,” I stage whisper.

Let the bitch stew.

***

In the hotel room, we undress with alacrity.

He has no condoms in his pants or in his wallet. I look inside my clutch. “We can fuck twice,” I count.

***

He has me lie on the bed. His kisses start at my belly and descend to my cunt. His mouth covers the opening of my pussy. The tongue slides over the slit. The breath from his nose strikes my bare pubis. My hand presses lightly on top of his head. I twist the graying hair while his face slides from side to side. He extends the tongue over me and licks the labia. The nub of the nose rubs across my skin. I run my hands over his forearms. I comb his hair. My knees are upright on the bed. My feet arch from the mattress. My pelvis raises as I seek to improve the angle. Vikram sucks my cunt. He holds my hip and squeezes my breasts. The point of contact acquires a torque as he rotates his face. The tongue focuses on my slit. It pokes in and out. The touch on the clitoris remains incidental for the moment.

I have been wet for hours. My panties were moist when I removed them. The dexterity of his tongue amazes me. It presses the right spots, between the lips, just inside the opening. He attacks the clit at last with his lips. My head rolls on the pillow. I clutch at the sheets. His hand presses over my belly while I squeak with pleasure. I wriggle my shoulders and bring my hips up. My back arches like a rainbow. The grip of fingers tightens in his hair. My thighs squeeze the sides of his head. The orgasm bursts over his tongue.

I take heavy breaths as I recover. I giggle.

***

I want to suck him, but he tells me that his cock is hard already, that he can’t wait. He slips the condom on.

Vikram is on his knees when he enters me. His hands grab the backs of my thighs. I bend the knees and tilt my buttocks off the mattress, raising my pussy to him.

The moment of penetration is exquisite. I am wet from the cunnilingus. The nerves inside vibrate with potentiality. The latency is made real when the cock muscles through. The flesh parts and collapses back against the shaft. The cunt is tight inside. The muscles are slick. I feel the friction on the walls of my vagina acutely. I compress him. We moan in counterpoint. It is a fugal harmony.

When the cock slips out, he slaps the head over my cunt and slips it back inside momentarily. Bringing it out again, he pokes my clitoris with the knob. The head slides across the tender nerve endings. The contact makes me come a second time. This orgasm is small, but no less satisfying for that.

When I place the cock inside me again, Vikram pulls me backward by the thighs. The length of the penis sinks into me. As he bounces himself on the mattress from his kneeling position, I flail my hips at him. Feet anchored to the bed, I grind the pelvis down. My head swivels with the pleasure of the sex. I hold his thigh and squeal.

The sex is etched in memory. The surrounding details are vivid. I notice the nearly inaudible buzz of the heater, the clean smell of the sheets, the soft lights, and the plush mattress. Clothed in sweat, I find the air bracing on my skin. He smells like lust.

We switch positions. He lays down horizontally, and I straddle the cock. The fullness inside feels different now. I control the angle of penetration and clench about the shaft. He holds me by the hips. In time, he takes over. I spread my hands and prop my weight on his chest as his thighs pump up at me. I hear the distinctive slap of skin striking skin. My pelvis gyrates as I bounce over his groin. My pussy impales herself over his cock. Vikram moans an occasional bass note. The sounds I make are higher pitched and feverish.

An especially vigorous movement means that his cock slips out of my cunt. I tease my pussy lips over the side of the shaft. Vikram sits up. We exchange gentle kisses. I hold his chin while my lips revel in his taste. The breath we share is sweet.

Vikram fucks me doggy style. His hands hold my hips as he rocks his body into me. I list back and forth on hands and knees. I like the steady deep penetration from behind. Hand between my legs, I touch my clit. I rub his balls.

Vikram moans eloquently. And then his cock convulses. He laughs when he completes, and I join in the chuckling.

***

We sleep, saving the last condom for morning. I rest in the cradle of his arms when slumber claims me.

***

Around eight, he wakes me with his kisses. I raise one leg over his side, and he threads his between mine. His fingers touch my pussy from below. The penis is warm against my thigh. Reaching between our bodies, I stroke his cock to hardness.

I lie on top of him while he fucks me. His hands hold me below the breasts. He kneads my buttocks. The kisses are unending.

I want to feel his weight on top, so we roll over in the bed. I press my thighs against his hips. My feet wave in the air. He fucks me hard. The cream from my pussy turns the condom white. I claw at his buttocks, the nails leaving my mark on his skin. My tongue stabs into his mouth when he comes inside me.

***

When he drives me home, I have my dress in a plastic bag. I am naked under the trenchcoat. I haven’t sucked Vikram’s cock, so I ask him to park the car and let me. His third orgasm offers little semen. He fingers my cunt during the blowjob. The thumb flicks at the clit.